


Coffee

by sinisterkid92



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, fluff-esque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinisterkid92/pseuds/sinisterkid92
Summary: Flynn used to make Lorena coffee every morning, now he gets to make Lucy coffee.





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I've been intending to write this for dayssss but work is a lot sometimes. This is just a little something that crossed my mind when I watched that scene at the beginning of 2x07 where Flynn smiles and looks totally smitten.
> 
> Oh, and this is unbeta'd, like everything around here. We're not fancy or anything ;)

The morning before Lorena and Iris died he’d made his wife a cup of coffee. Though he barely remembered that morning since it was routine. He got the coffee going and prepared breakfast while Lorena wrangled a grumpy Iris out of bed. Though Lorena had been raised in a deeply religious family to be a homemaker who could make bread from scratch she hated cooking and anything to do with preparing food and gladly left that task to her husband. 

Sometimes in their early relationship she’d make the effort to make coffee but it always came out either tasting of coffee infused water or like an ashtray. When Flynn bought the perculator a few years back she’d taken one look at it and vowed she would never touch the thing, ever. Flynn loved it, to be the one who filled his family’s stomach with good food, and simply because he loved cooking. The small task of handing Lorena her coffee cup in the morning after she descended the stairs with a usually grumpy Iris in tow filled him with a purpose. 

It had been such a long time since he’d made someone else a cup of coffee. There had been the pot of coffee sometimes with the crew of men who’d traveled with him before, but there had been no purpose behind it. Someone made it, it was a chore that had to be done. The making of coffee for a specific person was different. 

She showed up the night before with a bottle of vodka and a head tilt in an unspoken question. It was an acceptance of all the big and small conversations they’d had during their latest trip – his unspoken worry about her drinking alone, her acceptance that he just simply wants to know her, and that he understood that he was coming on too strong. 

They didn’t talk much, the company of each other was enough. It was why she was there, why he let her in. Words were superfluous, what could be said had been said and right now nothing else needed to be said. Both were in mourning, with the rug pulled out from underneath them. Again and again. Instead they poured a drink and cheered solemnly to the past, the present, and the should-have-been’s.

Maybe he should have offered to take the couch. That would have been the gentleman thing to do, or to sleep sitting up in a chair like he’d done many times in his life. Once, rocking his daughter to sleep in the middle of the night, eyelids drooping knowing that Iris would wake up as soon as he detangled the girl from his grasp, then in strange places with small comforts and too much exhaustion in his bone to manage to stay awake. Neither of those times were now. Now was Lucy with her sad eyes as she said ‘I don’t want to sleep alone tonight’.

He crawled into bed beside her, their bodies touching it was so small. He barely dared to move as she pulled the covers up over them. There were so many times he’d longed to touch her, to caress her cheeks, run his hand through her hair and just map her out. Beautiful. She was beautiful in so many ways and the more he looked at her now the more he could see the difference between her and the woman he met years ago. He wanted to change the path for her, be there for her so that she’d never become the woman who traveled back in time to give him her journal. She deserved more than that. She deserved the world. 

That morning he woke up before her and without putting any thought into it made them both coffee to start the day. The motions of it came back to him like he’d never stopped doing it, like this was exactly how it should be. So when he handed her the cup and watched her drink it, it was more than just a cup of coffee. It was finally feeling human again, the simple domesticity in it, this normal everyday thing he once did and now doing again, and it was her. Her sitting on his bed drinking the coffee he’d made with a shy smile that made his heart swell and burst.


End file.
